Shards of Noxus
by Shrimpsess
Summary: The story of Riven the Exile had she chosen not to join The League of Legends. Her path of redemption, for her and for Noxus, will lead her into the darkest depths of Noxian corruption, where the only honor is ruthlessness and brutality.


Reviews are VERY WELCOME.

Chapter 1

The Zaunite streets were exceptionally gloomy at dusk. However, little light penetrated the polluted atmosphere of the industrial city-state at any hour. Perhaps having seen the setting sun for its beauty in other lands created a greater somberness, or maybe it was a pre-emptive illusion fitting the mood of plans to be carried out. Whatever the reason, the streets of the northern Gozzyrn sector of Zaun seemed to carry a greater sense of dread than usual.

The fog-like smog would suit the purposes of Riven quite well, once she had located who she was looking for, but it certainly did not help her now. The thick, dense pollution obscured her vision.. She was not often a visitor of Zaun, her eyes nor lungs were adapted to the disgusting air here. She found herself taking short, muted breaths in an attempt to reduce her intake of this unnatural oxygen, but as a former soldier she also knew that this would cut her focus, energy, and concentration. To choke and gag would bring attention to her.

She was, however, accustomed to the smell of Zaun, one of which she would never forget. It was the stench of volatile chemicals, burning flesh, and death, which had permeated the Coeur Valley of Ionia many years ago. So powerful it was, that it seemed to drain your body of its soul. She was haunted by it.

She knelt down beside a large, damaged iron door to refocus her breathing, and her thoughts. It was the entrance of a recently abandoned factory, no doubt formerly belonging to Dr. Priggs, whose body was recently discovered blown apart in one of his offices. Abandoned buildings did not last long in Zaun – no doubt some corporation had already purchased this desolate structure and will further pollute this city in the name of mercantile or scientific progression. She shook her head removing such thoughts from her mind. She needed to focus on the task at hand.

The streets remained extremely busy no matter the lateness, bustling with activity. Merchants peddled their wares and buskers attempted to convince the more well off to part with a few coins. The younger residents merely strolled the streets, their minds likely rolling in some drug or another. She noticed a small group collecting at a nearby merchant's stand, pointing and laughing at some nearby buskers.

One of them, a young man, had skin with a bright glow the color of strawberries. The buskers in front of him were performing a very basic, yet stimulating act. One man was riding a tall 9 ft pole attached to a wheel, making hyperbolized movements of unbalance, while another man claiming to be his brother tried to coax him into performing an exciting trick for the audience, such as jumping up while on the contraption. When the man on the machine would perform the daring act, the skin of the observer changed to a darker color of worry. Riven had heard of this drug called Shimmer, which when rubbed on the skin, induced exaggerated emotions in the user, as well as causing the skin to glow brightly with different colors depending on the emotion being experience.

"So many distractions!" she cursed angrily under her breath. _How can these people get anything done with these putrid stenches, distracting noises, and this dense atmosphere_, she time here was limited, she could not afford to waste it any longer. One of the nearby buskers overheard her remark and turned, examining her. As he did so, she quickly tugged her hood down her face. Her dirty, dark cloak gave him the impression that she had little coin to spare herself, and so he continued on to find another mark.

Riven stood up and followed the street further, approaching a laboratory. The laboratory was small, with strange pipes strangling the building, snaking alongside its steel walls and leading off into other pipes. This continued throughout the entirety of the building. Some of the larger pipes led off into the roof and ended pointing at the sky, from which dark smoke billowed out into the environment. Others seemed to lead into the ground, emptying sinister chemicals and waste into the sewers.

She kept her distance but watched the serpentine structure from the corner of her eyes as she attempted to remain inconspicuous. Her chances of being recognized were slim, she had merely led a single company in her time in Noxus' military, despite her accomplishments and the praise of many, but the eyes and ears of the Noxus military complex were everywhere, including their ally Zaun. Ignoring that, Zaun itself had spies and saboteurs for its corporate espionage everywhere, always willing to part with information for some coin from the deep pockets of Noxian and Demacian elite alike.

Her most recognizable feature was surely her chalk-white hair, but she kept it short and the cloak and hood would conceal it quite well. Dressed like this she was merely any other unfortunate citizen of Zaun, maybe even some homeless drifter deep in the clutches of drug and alcohol addiction.

Hours passed. Finally, the laboratory doors opened, and out walked a solitary figure, a beast neither man nor animal. It was Warwick. Her eyes narrowed with sharp intensity at the sight of him. His fur was a dark shade of blue and grew long around his entire body. He stood on haunched legs with his tail following behind him, and his hands sported sharp claws. Even with his mouth shut, it was hard to conceal the frighteningly brutal teeth. He was a werewolf, but not by birth. He was, in fact, an intelligent and talented chemist. His appearance did, however, betray the nature of of his savage soul. He put his talents to twisted use under the employ of Noxus, designing genocidal chemical weaponry to aid them in their conquests, particularly in the invasion of Ionia. To the Ionians, Warwick's name was a curse that they spit with fiery hatred in their hearts.

This was a hatred that Riven shared. Warwick's nature was a perversion of Noxian ideals. In Noxus, the strong triumph. There is no strength when the strategy is the blind destruction of everything in the name of victory. Conflict is a contest. There is no contest under the bombardment of Warwick's chemicals, manufactured viruses and diseases. There is only death, and let those too afraid to risk failure in a true challenge of ability be the victors. It disgusted her. Within her cloak, her hand tightened on the hilt of her blade.

She turned her head to the ground quickly as he turned toward her direction, walking down the way she had come. As he neared, she grew tense. She knew Warwick had an impeccable sense of smell, and it was rumored that once he had the scent of a person he would recognize it easily. She had met him once, along with the other commanders of the 42nd standard, while Noxus prepared to march in Ionia...long ago. She had done her best to mask her scent with various chemicals and waste here in Zaun, but there was one variable she had little control over. It was well known that Warwick could smell blood best of all, it was an ability he had bragged of many times on the fields of justice after tracking and hunting down an enemy champion from their scent alone. She had done her best to time this conflict away from her menstrual cycle, but she had lost him for a day or two and was cutting it very close.

He was mere steps away from her now. As he grew closer, she focused her mind, concentrating on various mantras she had learned over the years to steady herself in the face of danger. _I know my purpose. If I am to fight here, the strong shall triumph. _

Warwick did not stop, but continued on. Riven did not breath a sigh of relief, she was beyond such trivialities. _The strong shall triumph, _she repeated_. _Once he was a distance away yet still within her sights, she began to follow him.

The streets were only slightly less busy than before. Few buskers remained, but of course the merchants continued to seek profit from teenagers wandering the streets stimulated by drugs and more than willing to part with their money. She was patient, knowing she could not confront him in this populated area, but also knowing that her window of opportunity would be small, and it was only a matter of time before Warwick noticed he was being followed. She was trained as a soldier, not a spy.

As she followed Warwick, she shut down her emotions. If she allowed herself to explore her vengeful desires, she would be overwhelmed by fury and hatred, and she would make mistakes. She must remain strong. _The strong shall triumph_, she reminded herself, _only the strong survive_. Yet, she hoped the opportunity she was waiting for would present itself soon.

After a short time, Warwick stopped suddenly, and turned towards an alleyway. Up until now he had followed the streets. _He knows. There will be conflict._

_ I welcome it,_ she smiled.

The alley was dark, populated only by the rats and other rodents feasting upon the garbage that lay within. _He will have a great advantage this late, with his advanced sense of smell and sight._ She was thankful that he traveled alone, even after his abduction in these very streets, many months ago. He had escaped, but not before suffering considerable wounds. They never found his attacker.

Warwick stopped. He turned, laughing and baring his vicious teeth.

"You should have struck me while my back was turned." _He's trying to intimidate me, _thought Riven, _he doesn't recognize me yet._

"That would be cowardly," she replied.

"There are no cowards, only the living...and the dead," he twitched his claws as he spoke, as if to accentuate the final word.

She frowned. "You are right, of course," she removed her hood, and undid her cloak, revealing herself. Her clothing reflected a chaotic soul. Her right shoulder was covered with brown cloth that was much too large, while her left shoulder had a broken piece of green shoulder-armor that appeared very out of place. Her blouse and skirt was one sheet of fabric wrapped and tied with minimal stitch work. Her torso, too, was shielded by a broken shard of armor that at the very least seemed to hold her rest of her clothes together. An unnecessary belt was wrapped loosely around her waist. If not for the misshapen sword sheath tied to, one would think the belt was merely for decoration. In her right hand, a large leather gauntlet held her sword. The sword was clearly broken, a jagged shard that itself was quite big, much too big for the woman who wielded it. The break had created a concave edge to the sword. A single rune was inscribed in both the sword and gauntlet.

Warwick laughed again. "They never did find the sword," he growled, "nor a body, but that was expected. It's a shame, a more worthy warrior could have used that."

Her hand tightened on the broken blade.

"You are trying to kill me for revenge. You are weak, and you will lose."

"What do you know of strength," she spat in response.

He moved closer to her. "Victory is strength, isn't that what the Noxians teach you?"

She shook her head, unconsciously brushing against the rune marking on her sword with her left hand. "Strength is conflict, a contest of skill, not merely a display of dominance. Destroying an enemy that cannot fight back is not strength, its greed. When we were ambushed, instead of letting the fight determine who is stronger, you bombed both armies with your chemical weaponry! There was no strength, only death."

"Greed is what creates progress. This is why Zaun is so great, our greed ensures backstabbing and competition, forcing us to become stronger. You do whatever it takes to achieve victory, destroy everything...kill the innocent." He smiled as he spoke, knowing her guilt.

She lowered her eyes slightly. Warwick continued to move closer, and spoke again.

"I was not the one who fired upon your company. It was Singed, my apprentice. Your mission of revenge is both weak and misplaced. I suggest you run while you have the chance. I want to have some fun." He bared his fangs and growled. "Neither Singed, nor I, did anything that wasn't commanded directly from Governor Barom Darkwill himself."

Riven opened her mouth to respond, but was cut short as Warwick lunged at her, shoving her down, grabbing her right arm and pinning her to the ground to prevent her reprisal. He howled, before swiping at her face with his free paw. She cried out as his claws tore into her flesh, bringing sharp pain and a dark wetness to her face. Warwick howled once again as the scent of her blood filled his nostrils, gleefully infuriating him.

Riven punched his snout, causing him to yelp in pain and loosen his grip. She broke free, kicking his torso, and quickly getting back on her feet. Immediately, she slashed at Warwick, but he ducked swiftly to the side avoiding the blow. They both locked eyes with one another.

"How easy you are to manipulate...how weak you are," Warwick growled, laughing.

"The time for talk is over," Riven shouted, dashing towards him and slashing his chest as he jumped back. He roared with rage, picking up a nearby steel rod and rushing towards her. As she lunged her sword forward, he placed the steel rod in the jagged space at the center of her broken sword. She was forced back in surprise, as he lowered his face over her shoulder, biting into her and tearing cloth, muscle and nerves. She shrieked in pain, shoving her sword towards him and stabbing him.

He did not release, instead tightening his bite. She, forced her blade deeper in retaliation. Finally, the pain became too much and he released, pulling back. She ignored the wound, regaining her focus.

_No more hesitation,_ she thought to herself, brandishing her broken blade. Suddenly, it began to glow green, and an apparition of the broken shards appeared, reforging the blade. There were three shards, each with a different rune inscribed upon it. The sword was imposing, despite its translucency. _I am awakened._

Warwick stepped back from her as a tinge of fear surged through him.

"You are nothing more than a monster, and you are beyond redemption!"

Riven leaped forward, slashing her sword down onto Warwick, slicing through his skull, killing him instantly. She pulled her blade from his skull, a sickening shriek of metal tearing through bone echoed in the alley and her mind.

_No looking back. _She turned away from the corpse, her sword returning to its broken state.


End file.
